How honor operates in a man? I wish it was just another line or to elaborate just another line-to me. It’s from Fountainhead and its Gail discussing it with Dominique. Though every word in the book is special in its own right, this line stands out- to me. Having read that line numerously, I often contemplate about this horror genre. I juxtapose my mistakes and my so called high points and try to find how honored or horror-ed I feel at them. Expectedly, I find myself in an endless stream of guilt and with a slight ray of hope that one day I would be able to turn myself around.
I am detailing out one incident when my honor was mocked, raped and was turned into a horrific horror. It was during my stint with an Architectural Firm. I was in the Business Development and my job was to sell the firm to prospective clients. I had used big jargons during the interview and so expectations were commensurate. A few months into the job, I hadn’t done anything substantial to justify my salary. My boss (He is a certain Chopra and yes very much like Prem and also Pret Chopra to be specific) had given me constant reminders to raise my level of competence. I mean competence in designing glossy presentations and articulately deliver them. It wasn’t that I didn’t try but my best effort was still not good enough. So, one day the death bell finally rang. He asked me to look for another job and gave me three months for it. Since the beginning he had been ruthless, unsupportive, inhuman and aloof. But at that moment he was all of them together and much more.
On one side I wanted to shout-Did you ever sit with me? Did you, for once, help me learn the craft? I am just a fresher and I needed some guidance. But why- was on another side.
I knew he was devil only to me and not to his work. He was always apt at it- be in decorating power point templates or delivering the same to Sarkari Babus as well to big developers. He was just good at it.
I was in dilemma; I wanted to kick his balls and also wanted badly to learn some of the art from him. So, to save my so called honor-I followed the escape route and threw my resignation at his table within next five minutes. He tried to stop but washroom was calling. I bolted the door from inside. No, I didn’t jerk, I cried loudly- at my helplessness and at his dexterity, at my willingness to learn and at his inhumanness. It was -he was logical but still not consistent and I was bad but not bad enough kind of situation.
By evening, I was with my room mate who tried to console me with sweeteners and exhortations like- Yaar- you are not that bad, uttha lein salle ko (he had been a college time goon and so did I) , to hell with that job et al. I gave up and we drank and everything was normal by morning.
I am fascinated towards big words, don’t know since when-but I am. I pick them up, try to follow them and then the practicality of life ensues and I curse not me but those words-why they were invented at all. Thus honor is still an unsolved mystery and I never feel dignified. Thanks to my early life bad company, I still commit grossest of the things and then try to play with the words (I am doing it now) to delude myself.
What the fuck are benchmarks for?
Why are you born when you know you can never be perfect?
Why did I do that?
Why I still do that?
Why carnal pleasures (sex, cigarette) can never be overpowered?
(It’s a senseless post of mine but I had to write it and please, don’t suggest yoga and spirituality and self help books. It’s a psychological issue and I am on my way to become a psycho to overcome it.)